Misa let out a sharp, shocked gasp as the scrawny guy crashed onto his back, his head bouncing off the coarse sand. His nose was bent sideways and his lip was split wide open, dark red blood dripping fast into the dry arena floor.
Within seconds, a shrill military whistle pierced through the noise of the training ground. The surrounding recruits instantly scattered, forming a wide circle around the twitching body on the ground. I stood over him, holding my ground, keeping my posture entirely nonchalant as if I had just flicked away a fly.
Rhea Stone came thundering through the crowd, her heavy combat boots kicking up dust. Her sharp eyes darted from the bleeding guy to my knuckles, which were already dusted with sand and fresh blood.
"What the hell do you think you're doing on my field, recruit?" Rhea roared, her face inches from mine. "You don't strike your own squad! Out here, insubordination gets you thrown straight to the outer wall!"
I met her glare without blinking. "He opened his mouth. I closed it."
"Shut your mouth before I close it for good!" she snapped, blowing her whistle again right in my face. "You just earned yourself twelve straight hours of heavy hauling and track cleanup. You're on shift until midnight. Move!"
I didn't argue. I simply turned on my heel and began the brutal punishment detail, hauling heavy iron crates and scrubbing bloodstains off the concrete lower levels.
By the time midnight rolled around, my body was exhausted far beyond its limits. Every muscle in my broad frame burned with a deep, heavy ache. I finally reached my fourth-level subterranean bunker, unlocked the heavy steel door, and stepped inside. I barely had enough energy to pull off my combat boots before a sharp, rhythmic knock echoed against the metal doorframe.
I groaned, leaning my forehead against the cold wall. I stepped up to the door and glanced through the small optical keyhole.
Standing in the cyan-lit hallway was the scrawny guy I had flattened earlier. His face was wrapped tightly in white bandages all the way up to his eyes, making him look like a ridiculous mummy. Behind him stood three heavy-set recruits, each resting a metal baseball bat wrapped in jagged, rusted barbed wire across their shoulders.
I unlocked the latch and swung the door open, towering over the four of them as I leaned against the frame with my arms crossed over my massive chest.
The scrawny guy took a quick step back, trying to puff out his chest beneath his bandages. "Do- Do you even know who I am?" he sneered, his voice muffled through the cloth.
I looked down at him with utter disdain. "If you're introducing yourself to me, then you're not important at all. Go back to your room before I actually divorce your head from your neck."
The scrawny guy whimpered at the suggestion. He looked at my massive shoulders, my bruised knuckles, and the sheer cold killer instinct in my eyes, realizing very quickly that I was fully capable of tearing him apart right in this hallway.
He swallowed hard, turning around to face his three armed buddies. "Come on, y'all. He ain't worth fighting. He's just a little bitch."
The lean guy tried to play it cool as the four of them quickly shuffled away down the dark corridor, their heavy boots fading into the quiet night. I shook my head, stepped back inside, and closed the door.
Exactly three minutes later, another firm knock rattled the metal panel.
I let out a heavy, frustrated groan, stomping back to the door and yanking it open without checking the keyhole first. "I've done every single round you've asked, Commander! Rest is important to me, and it should be to you too!"
Standing in the doorway was Rhea. She didn't say a word. She simply reached out, shoved her palm hard against my chest, and pushed me back into the room. She stepped inside and slammed the heavy blast door shut behind her, locking the electronic latch with a sharp click.
"I can't rest without making you see this," she said, her voice dropping into a low, serious hum.
Before I could ask what kind of crazy military game she was playing, Rhea grabbed the front of her thick leather combat jacket and ripped it wide open. She unzipped her tactical top beneath it, exposing her chest right in front of me.
I shrieked at first, instinctively jumping back a step and covering my eyes like a shocked teenager.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Look at it, Vance," she commanded, her voice unwavering. "Look!"
I lowered my hands and took a double look, expecting to see whatever crude target that recruit had been talking about earlier. Instead, a wave of pure horror washed over me.
Horror gripped my chest as I stared at her sternum. Slightly bent to the left side of her chest was a massive, jagged scar. But it wasn't normal tissue. The scar was glowing with an ominous, fiery red light, pulsing softly like molten glass beneath translucent skin. Over her soft chest, this hideous, radioactive mark was what hid behind her tough armor.
My breath hitched in my throat. I felt an overwhelming, strange impulse to reach out, to touch and feel that red flaming scar which was literally glowing in the dim light of my room.
"A zombie almost got me three months ago," Rhea whispered, her eyes fixed on the floor as the red light cast long shadows over her face. "It pinned me down on the concrete. It didn't go for my throat, Vance. It tried to bite my tits off first. That was the first time a zombie had ever targeted a human body like that. It was targeted. It was intentional."
She took a slow, painful breath, pulling her jacket back just an inch. "The viral infection was spreading through my breastbone fast. The medics had to scoop out the dead tissue and replace my skin and bone with a synthetic, radioactive compound just to stop the rot from eating my lungs."
She looked up at me, her dark eyes piercing straight through my soul.
"I'm telling you this because you need to understand something valuable," Rhea said, her voice dropping into a chilling register. "These zombies aren't just mindless, gory beasts anymore. They have instincts now. They have desires. They are evolving, learning what makes us human and trying to tear it away piece by piece."
The anger I felt toward her earlier completely evaporated. The sheer weight of what she had survived made my own battle scars feel small.
"I'm sorry," I said softly, looking straight into her eyes as she began dressing herself back up, pulling the thick zipper over the glowing red mark and buttoning her heavy leather coat. "I'm sorry for what happened to you, Rhea."
She paused for a second, her hands resting over her collar. Then, Rhea turned her full attention to me.
She took a good, long look at my frame. I noticed the slow, deliberate way her eyes drew from my face, down across my broad chest, past my thick arms, all the way to my boots, taking in every inch of muscle and steel I carried. She didn't say another word about the scar, nor did she acknowledge the unspoken tension lingering in the air between us.
Without a single word of farewell, Rhea unlocked the door, stepped out into the cyan hallway, and walked away into the cold, quiet darkness.
What was that?